Becoming An Idol Wasn’T On My Plan [EN]: Chapter 203

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Oh, something seems to be starting. The female member of the group strongly smacked the shoulder of the male member sitting next to her. Judging by the sound that echoed throughout the restaurant, the words ‘Die!’ would have been more fitting than ‘Hey, what are you doing?’

“Ah, why, honey!”

“Why? Should I take off the perilla leaf for you?”

Here, in a restaurant where a French person works, perilla leaves are served as a side dish. I must be holding onto outdated prejudices that don’t fit in this globalized era. I almost laughed out of disbelief when I heard that.

“What? I was just taking it off because it looked like he was having trouble eating it.”

“No, why are you taking off a perilla leaf for another man?”

Oh dear, I wish the woman knew that taking off a perilla leaf is one of the traditional Korean dining customs. And the incompetent man in the front seat who couldn’t even take off a perilla leaf himself needs to learn how to use chopsticks and a spoon together.

I dislike everything about this program, so my thoughts are a bit rough right now.

[It’s like Lee Hyun-jae!]

No puns allowed.

“No, taking off a perilla leaf is…”

“I was already suspicious. You two.”

Open-minded thinking, commendable. A change seems to be starting in the rigid 21st-century Korean society.

“If not, why would you take off a perilla leaf for him?”

However, the problem is that I don’t understand why it’s an issue. Moreover, given the concept of this show, definitely.

The man and woman glared at each other before simultaneously turning their heads towards me.

“Professor.”

I immediately raised a white flag. Then, like puppets with severed strings, the actors sat still in their places. I covered my eyes with my left hand. Ah, how awful.

“Dong-hwa, why the white flag?”

“Why do they know I’m a professor?”

“Was that the problem?”

“Yes.”

The PD [Production Director] took a deep breath at my firm answer.

“Well, ahem, Dong-hwa, in this world, you’re like a star professor.”

Goodness, this isn’t 19th or 20th century France or Germany; it’s nearly impossible for an intellectual to become a star in modern times. It’s such a wildly made-up setting that I can’t even immerse myself in it.

“So, do I have to pretend to be a star?”

“No, we’ll say Dong-hwa’s charm is his un-star-like modesty.”

Don’t make things up on the spot. I’m going to die. The image of a ‘modest type’ subtitle being added under a human documentary-style introduction flickered before my eyes like a hallucination.

I pressed hard on my eyes, doing my best to regain my sanity.

“Shall we start again?”

I think I’ve regained my mental composure to some extent.

“Then, one, two, three.”

“Professor!”

It’s as if the severed strings are working again, which makes me feel terribly strange. It feels like I’m the only human in a world of puppets. I wonder if my heart rate is okay right now.

“Yes.”

“He’s the one who’s wrong!”

“He’s the one who’s narrow-minded!”

No, why are you asking me that? I’m a professor of mental health management, not agricultural and fisheries management.

“…Please tell me what happened.”

Right, smile, don’t forget. I’m supposed to be a relaxed professor, damn it. Managing my expression to avoid showing embarrassment is harder than acting.

“He took off a perilla leaf for another man, you know?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

The woman’s bewildered expression, followed by her incredulous expression.

“No, his girlfriend is right next to him, you know?”

Did taking off a perilla leaf somehow become an act with a confession-like meaning while I wasn’t looking? Maybe it’s like that in this world. It’s always best to avoid such meaningless arguments.

“But, I’m curious, the man sitting still over there.”

“Yes?”

“Were you perhaps, was your left hand hurting?”

“…Uh, no.”

Oh dear.

“Why didn’t you use your left hand to lift the spoon and grab the perilla leaf from below?”

“Uh…”

“Were you perhaps too caught up in the Korean dining etiquette of only eating with one hand?”

“Uh… Is that so?”

“That’s right. Sometimes, it’s good to break free from such conventional frameworks. If you try to fit into the mold, you might forget what you’re capable of.”

Ha—, what am I even saying with my own mouth right now?

“That, that might be true.”

“Perhaps, are you feeling unsure about the path you’re taking these days, or feeling like you’re falling behind others around you?”

“Oh, that’s right.”

I took a shot. Statistically, most people in their late twenties and mid-twenties experience such feelings on a daily basis.

“Oh dear. That’s a big problem.”

“I know. What should I do… these days I’m…”

The actor, who was muttering like that, suddenly realized that he had forgotten his role due to the surrounding attention and covered his mouth with a blank expression.

“Isn’t it because you think other people’s frameworks are right?”

The PD said in a quiet voice, ‘How did perilla leaf… turn into a life story… sniffle,’ and it was decided that I would get a cup of coffee.

“No, the perilla leaf…”

The female actor, not forgetting her role, tried to push through to the end, but gave up, her hands trembling, and shouted in deep anger.

“You’re the worst, Professor!”

Perhaps, the scenario was that whichever side I took, the opposite side would get angry like this. I admire the female actor’s improvisation.

And then, the angry shouting continues. In the editing room, I imagine they’ll alternate between a black and white screen, my smiling face, and the female actor’s face, furiously angry.

I hope this damn program fails and gets canceled early, please.

It’s exhausting pretending to be cultured. I don’t even know anything.

Inside the restaurant, which had become quiet after the angry customer left, I could hear giggling from the production team and the sound of them making notes. It seemed like there would be no shortage of coffee to drink in the studio today.

Anyway, regardless of that, I got through the second crisis well. I don’t know what I’m doing this for, just for a few minutes of footage.

“But Dong-hwa.”

A question comes in as I wave the white flag.

“Yes.”

“What do you really think about perilla leaves?”

Who cares, is what I’m thinking. Of course, if I say that, the ‘Ji Dong-hwa personality controversy’ will take over the internet, so I can’t say that. If I were to think about it deeply.

“I think you should become someone who knows how to eat a meal alone.”

Not as a couple, but in order not to become the person who has a perilla leaf ‘taken off’ for them in front of them. A friend and their lover arguing in front of me about whether or not they’re interested in me—just imagining it makes my head hurt and feels like a hassle.

The PD pondered again, then smiled as if he understood, and checked his name in his notebook again.

“Anyway, white flag is over.”

And the waiter comes again. It looks like normal food on the outside, but I mustn’t forget that the name of the dish is ‘Hell’s Bitterness.’ The waiter set the food down with dignity and replied.

“The Sardinian-style dish has arrived.”

Stop. You know that’s nonsense. And Sardinia is in Italy, but this is French food. Why am I saying such things?

“…Memories.”

Holding the knife and fork properly, I carefully poked the grilled filet mignon (presumably). It looks too normal on the outside, which makes it even more frightening.

When I cut it with great determination, I almost lost my composure. What is this mushy texture? It doesn’t feel like cutting meat at all. Something, a similar experience, it feels like I’ve had it before.

“It’s a dish made by slicing filet mignon, placing boiled mushrooms in between the slices, and then baking it in the oven.”

White flag. Immediately, white flag.

I politely placed the fork and knife on the plate and waved the white flag splendidly. Then, I gathered my hands and buried my face in them. My makeup isn’t heavy, but right now, I wanted to cover my eyes even more.

“Whose idea was this, PD?”

The PD suppressed a laugh and slipped behind the writer next to him. What to do, really. You must have been really impressed by the story of my first meeting with Chae Ha-min on the W app.

“Do I really have to eat this?”

“Because it’s Sardinian-style.”

Damn Sardinia. No, damn dead Sardinia. How long are you going to keep milking this? Don’t you think the price is too cruel for a single slip of the tongue?

“…Is it okay if I swear?”

“That would be new and interesting, but it’s intended for all ages.”

The PD, thinking he had teased me enough, got to the point.

“If not, you can come up with a plausible reason why you can’t eat it!”

Yes, that’s what you were expecting. Forcing someone to eat food they hate is torture in the first place. You even predicted that I would raise the white flag here. I have to admit, your planning skills are impressive.

“…White flag terminated.”

The waiter took a deep breath and returned to acting mode. This suffocating attempt to hold back laughter. The silence feels like it’s oppressing me.

“Ah, Professor, we heard you especially like mushrooms, so we added extra.”

Um, I think I’ll need blood pressure medication. To stabilize my heart rate, let’s recall the old memories of young Mok-hwa melting into the blanket and eating tangerines.

The waiter’s line was a preemptive strike to prevent me from making an allergy excuse. This is like a game of chess with the production team. The opponent keeps trying to eliminate the moves I can make, and if I see through it and break through, it becomes my victory.

I should have realized it for sure when I gave the white flag in the first place. I should have said I had a mushroom allergy the moment I entered the restaurant. I learned a harsh lesson for the next shoot.

I cut a piece of beef and mushroom, put it in my mouth, and immediately spat it out into the tissue next to me. Then, I drank the sujeonggwa—why?—next to me and filled my eyes with anger.

“What, what is this?”

An incredulous voice and expression. The tone of asking what this food I just ate is. I carefully build up all of this.

“Yes? What…”

“This, this isn’t Sardinian-style.”

Ah, my life is over with this. I can only feel sorry for the members.

* * *

Regret is a useless act. Why didn’t I refuse to appear? I must erase such remorse from my mind. Let’s accept it, this is also my choice and my responsibility. Deep breath, let’s calm down.

“…Hyung [older brother/male friend], are you nervous?”

“Hey, Hyun-jae, that’s you.”

When Ryu Iden pointed to his trembling hands, Lee Hyun-jae seemed to acknowledge it and took a deep breath.

“Today is very important.”

Some time has passed since the filming, and finally, the day of the radio show with Lee Hyun-jae has arrived. It’s 견훤 Senior’s ‘Rhythm of the Evening,’ which I’ve been to before.

Of course, it’s important, Hyun-jae. It’s an activity that signals the start of your comeback. The fans have been waiting for this time a lot.

“There’s a lot of talk in the community about Dong-hwa hyung’s composing skills.”

“We’re in a profession where there’s always a lot of talk.”

Some actors even have articles written about them just for saying they like mint chocolate, so in this situation, that level of gossip is like taxes, isn’t it?

“Still, that’s how it is. I’ll prove it.”

Um, if you sing well and make the song come alive, doesn’t that mean the composing skills aren’t that good? Bright Lee Hyun-jae seemed to have slightly clouded judgment for some reason.